My baby is 8

I can't believe it - G is 8.

Funny how time flies. I remember him being an infant, and the days dragging by. He was a colicky, silent refluxy baby. Feedings took, on average, 45 minutes and involved lots of screaming (on his part) and a fair amount of crying (me). I sometimes thought I'd never survive his infancy - thanks PPD for those thoughts.

But I survived...and I've made it through a fall off the changing table, a fall down the stairs, a rather large egg on his forehead, a face plant at daycare on his first birthday, a tumble off the top of a twisty slide...calls about his biting, then hitting, the overall aggression...calls about his explaining what the word "erection" meant...stomach bugs and strept throat and random fever viruses...and a mystery chin lump that was temporarily suspected to be a tumor (thank God it was a bone bruise). I've read more books out loud - sometimes the same ones every day for a month - than I ever thought possible. We logged hundreds of miles with the jog stroller and planted 5 gardens. I've been infected by his colds and also by his hysterical giggle.

Motherhood is an amazing and incredibly overwhelming and daunting journey. I was afraid to do it.

And now that I've jumped in feet first - I don't regret it. I don't need to do it again - I am complete with my one child - but I'm glad I took that chance.

Happy birthday G. Sometimes it's hard to remember what life was like without you here. I love you, Baby Bear. :-)